


A Futile Deceit

by WaywardSun1



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 09:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13315161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSun1/pseuds/WaywardSun1
Summary: Missing scene. Takes place after 3.04 “Hearts and Minds,” when Ben is back in camp and still silently suffering from the effects of a gunshot wound. Washington demands to know what’s ailing him...and the cat gets out of the bag, in more ways than one.





	A Futile Deceit

"Lay down in my bed, and unbutton your breeches."  
  
Ben's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Sir?"  
  
"Do as I say, major. Doctor?" queried Washington abruptly, turning around to their camp surgeon, who had arrived a few moments earlier in a flurry. It wasn't often he was summoned with such urgency, and the call had ignited a spark of panic in him.  
  
"General?"  
  
"Major Tallmadge is ill. Check him out, please."  
  
Ben looked between both of them, his heart pounding wildly. He couldn't say he was fine again. Washington knew he wasn't. If he really was forced to be examined, it was about to be incredibly obvious what was paining him. And he was scared to have the truth uncovered.  
  
The doctor sensed Ben's hesitation and immediately spoke to him directly, in a calming tone.  
  
"Certainly, major. Take off your coat, please. What is going on? I see you are somewhat pale."  
  
Ben removed his coat with a sigh, but before he could answer, Washington pitched in with his assessment.  
  
"His lower right side has been paining him greatly. I've seen him favoring it since he returned from New Jersey, although he's been trying to hide it, so I'm worried of some kind of inflammation in the appendix. Would you be able to tell if that is the case?"  
  
The doctor nodded. "Yes, sir. But for his sake I hope that is not so. Do you feel feverish, major?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
The doctor stepped up and pressed hard into Ben's hip without any warning, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. All three of them froze with wide eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ben gasped, the shock of the touch still coursing through his body like lightning. "I wasn't expecting that."

“I know, that was the point. I wouldn’t have gotten a true reaction if you were able to brace yourself first. But I’m sorry for it, all the same.” The doctor turned to Washington with a concerned, aggrieved look on his face. "It may very well be the appendix. I think he should lie down so I can examine him further," he said quietly, as if Ben wasn't two feet away and listening intently.

“Lie down," commanded Washington harshly, in the same tone he used with his dogs back home at Mount Vernon. This time, Ben obeyed, but he was not happy about it. It was exceedingly strange to be occupying the bed of the Continental Army's Commander-in-Chief. No matter how many times he had fantasized about it in the past, he had never wanted it to actually become reality. Especially not like _this_.  
  
The doctor hesitated, then spoke to Washington again. "And, sir…I…would like to request the patient's privacy, at least for the time being?"  
  
It was an exceedingly polite and cautious way of asking Washington to leave his own tent, and it wasn't a request made lightly. The doctor was obviously very keen to not make an enemy out of his commander.  
  
"I will stay here," Washington replied after a moment of hesitation. "Both of you go to the major's tent, so you can examine him there."  
  
Ben leaped to his feet, causing more aggravation to the bullet wound on his side. He winced and staggered, and started to fall, which caused Washington to grab him around the waist to hold him upright. It worked, but Ben pulled away in surprise, causing Washington to throw him a glare that could have set the world on fire in its intensity. But he said nothing and turned back to the doctor.  
  
"I expect a full report as soon as your examination is complete."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Major?" prompted Washington as they started to leave.  
  
Ben turned to see him holding his coat out, ready to put on.  
  
"Don't forget this."  
  
"Thank you, sir," replied Ben with keen embarrassment as he slipped an arm into the sleeve. It was bad enough to lie in his bed, and to be held upright, but now to be dressed by him, too? Ben's face burned bright red as he fought back his arousal and noted that Washington's frustration had now turned into deep, almost fatherly concern. Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to hide his injury, after all. But…there was nothing that could be done now except to hope the doctor would keep his secret.  
\-----  
  
Upon returning to his tent, Ben laid down on his bed and promptly unbuttoned the top buttons of his breeches for the doctor, who was predictably startled by the angry red eye-shaped wound in his hip.  
  
"There it is," said Ben casually, unnecessarily pointing at it for emphasis. "I was shot. The ball was taken out, and I have no fever. But…it pains me greatly. Is there anything you can do for me?"  
  
The doctor looked at him in amazement.  
  
"And no," continued Ben, "I have not informed the General yet. I hope to avoid doing so."  
  
"We'll discuss that later. Let's focus on the wound, and on getting you better.” He looked ashen suddenly. “Also...had I known earlier, I never would have pressed on it so."

”That was entirely my fault,” Ben answered graciously.

”Thank you. Lie still. Close your eyes so you can’t anticipate my actions.”

The doctor poked and prodded at Ben’s abdomen for several minutes while he writhed in silent protest. Then he had him turn around on his belly so that he could push on his back in different areas.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor stopped his ministrations and sat heavily down in the chair next to the bed, sighing deeply.  
  
"Alright. Button back up. You will fully recover and appear to have no injury to the bone-"  
  
"I know that," Ben growled as he flipped slowly around onto his back again.  
  
"No, you don't. I'm the doctor. Tell me, who removed the bullet and sewed the stitches? He did such a wonderful job and I would like to engage his services. It certainly wasn't one of my men. There isn't a good surgeon's assistant to be found anywhere in this camp. Just former butchers and the like, and they're all but useless."  
  
Ben swallowed hard as he pictured Sarah tending to the gushing hole in his side. Not that he remembered it, being unconscious at the time. But his imagination was strong enough that it almost made the occasion into an actual memory.  
  
"I'm afraid that’s quite impossible, doctor."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because the person responsible for my care was a female civilian."  
  
"Hmmm. Well, can we convince her to join us? We need her, and we would pay her well."  
  
Ben hesitated, but knew that if he didn't halt this line of questioning now, the doctor would take it straight to Washington for follow-up. That would be worse.  
  
"She's…she's a Tory."  
  
"Ah. That's too bad. Sit up slowly. I want you to do nothing but rest for three days."  
  
Ben laughed weakly. "Right. Tell Washington that, I'm sure he'll be pleased. I am leaving tonight for-"  
  
"Speaking of which, he's going to ask me for a diagnosis. You do realize your secret is not going to last the day?"  
  
Ben froze halfway through his attempt to button his breeches and started to protest.   
  
The doctor interrupted, "It’s none of my business why you’re hiding it from him. I'm sure you have a very good reason to conceal it. However, I do not. So are you going to tell him, or shall I?"  
  
There was a rustling at the tent flap door, causing them both to turn and look. Washington walked in, and Ben quickly covered himself with the blanket as he sat up.  
  
"Doctor?" he asked, not looking at Ben. "Are you quite finished?"  
  
"Yes, sir. I'm pleased to report he will fully recover, but will be very sore for some time. I recommend a strict bed rest of at least three days in order not to reopen and aggravate the wound. Preferably a week."  
  
Washington looked astonished. "The… _wound_?"  
  
The doctor looked at his patient, lips tightly pursed. "It appears the two of you need to talk, sir, perhaps without my presence to impede the confession."  
  
"You will stay. Major? What confession is this?"  
  
Ben was almost white as the snow outside the tent, and had broken out into a cold sweat. He felt his career crashing down around him, and already the shame of Washington's disapproval coursed through every vein in his body. This was a disaster. He hated himself for not telling the truth upfront, and was unable to look either of them in the eye.  
  
"Gamble shot me during my escape, sir. I was…sewn up prior to my return to camp."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Franklin Township, sir."  
  
Washington frowned. "No; I meant where on your body were you shot?"  
  
Ben flushed with embarrassment. "My right hip, sir."  
  
The doctor spoke up again. "There's no permanent damage, but as I said he is at risk for re-opening the wound with too much activity."  
  
"Show me."  
  
Ben laid back down immediately, not wishing to anger him further with a show of reluctance. The doctor peeled back the blanket and breeches, and Washington took a step forward to peer at the damage.  
  
"That's a very serious injury," Washington observed quietly. "Could have been mortal, I gather?"  
  
"Indeed, sir. He was lucky to have the Tory woman tend to him with such remarkable skill. I only wish we could draft her into our ranks."  
  
Ben felt like he was punched in the gut, again. He should have never told the doctor that detail, and he closed his eyes in emotional agony before reopening them a few moments later to peek at Washington's expression, which was predictably a show of anger and hurt. The two looked at each other for a few moments, each deeply occupied with their own thoughts and concerns. Ben looked away first, then through the pounding pulse in his ears he heard Washington speak as if he was a hundred feet away and under water.  
  
"Cover him back up. Three days to start, you say? Very well. You are to report back to me on Sunday evening and let me know how he is doing, and whether further restriction is necessary."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Sir-" began Ben, but to his dismay, Washington turned away and left the tent without another word.  
  
He took a deep breath and tried to calm his shaking hands, while considering whether or not to write a resignation letter now, or wait to be yelled at later and then dismissed from the army.  
  
The doctor shook his head and made a tsk, tsk sound. "I'm afraid you will have some explaining to do later, my dear boy."  
  
"You didn’t have to tell him about the Tory woman!" Ben hissed.  
  
"I'm going to bring you a poultice for the wound. Lie still."  
  
"I don't want it. Just leave me alone."  
  
"I will gladly leave you alone…after the poultice is applied. Until then, you will cooperate or I shall report to our commander that you aren't being-"  
  
Ben held up a hand and sighed. "Just bring it, then.”  
  
\-------------------  
Ben was grateful to be released after three days of almost no activity whatsoever - in which he mostly just lay around worrying about his future, rather than applying himself to reading books or writing letters - but when it came time to offer the explanation that Washington was awaiting, he wished he could wait another four days. Even more than that, perhaps.  
  
"You asked to see me, sir?" he began carefully as he entered his general's tent.  
  
"Yes. How are you feeling, major?"  
  
"Completely healed, sir, and ready to return to my duties."  
  
"Excellent. Then I'm ready to hear an explanation of why you hid this particular incident from me. It had better be a good one. Please go ahead, I'm listening."  
  
Washington looked down at him expectantly, not moving a muscle. He was waiting with apparent politeness, but Ben knew him well enough to know that he must tread very carefully because he was likely to blow up at any moment.  
  
"I have no excuse, sir, except that I was rather embarrassed with being captured by Gamble."  
  
Washington cleared his throat. "Yes, but that was in your report, so that's not an excuse. You are my head of intelligence. Don't you think it would have been wise to inform your Commander in Chief that you were ready to keel over at any moment and take all of the information in your head with you, so that I would have literally nothing to pass on to your successor?"  
  
Ben had not expected the conversation to take this turn, and he was left quite speechless.  
  
"And don't you think," Washington continued, "that it reflects extremely poorly upon your judgment when I find that you are willing to risk our entire cause in order to hide the fact that your life was saved by a Tory woman? Had you told me that outright, I would have thought nothing of it except to be grateful for the fact that, even in war, there are still people out there who will set aside their political differences and help each other as mere human beings."  
  
"Not really, sir. I lied to her about what side I was on; doubtful she would have helped me otherwise. The reason I didn't tell you about it is because I…I…wanted to bring her back to camp with me, so I revealed my identity to her when I was certain she was a Patriot. But I was wrong, and she grabbed her musket, and we fought, but in the end she let me go." He still didn't know why. "I was wearing her dead husband's clothes," he added softly, almost to himself.  
  
Washington was too stunned too make an immediate reply.  
  
Ben shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir. I understand if you want to…"  
  
"Want to what?" asked Washington, voice raspy and hard.  
  
"If you want to ask for my resignation." Ben said this matter-of-factly, but he could not breathe while doing so…and he certainly hoped Washington wouldn't take him up on the offer.  
  
"What was her name?" he asked simply.  
  
Ben hesitated. "Sarah Livingston, sir, of Franklin Township. Widowed last year. Her husband was…murdered by our own men in exchange for crops, sir."  
  
A look of understanding washed over Washington's expression. "Ah. Hence, why you wanted to bring her back to camp with you."  
  
"Yes, sir. Until I learned she was a Tory, of course."  
  
Washington nodded. "And your wound is completely healed, you say?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ben said quickly, grateful for the change of subject. "It is scabbed over quite tightly, and doesn't cause me too much pain anymore."  
  
"Let me see it."  
  
Ben complied, feeling a warm flush creeping up his cheeks as he unbuckled his belt as quickly as his fumbling fingers could manage. He knew he shouldn't feel self-conscious, and that Washington was only displaying the utmost care for the one officer who could pretty much throw the war in one direction or another, depending on the day of the week. Hell, even by the hour.  
  
He pulled up his waistcoat, then his shirt, and then rolled down the top of his breeches, just enough to expose the wound but still keep his modesty intact.

Washington moved forward and reached out as if to touch the scar. But he stopped himself abruptly.  
  
Ben could not breathe.  
  
They stood there.  
  
Still as a painting.  
  
Looking at each other’s bodies.  
  
Judging.  
  
Wondering.

Wanting.

"Sir," Ben finally croaked, in a strangled tone. "As you can see, it’s healing perfectly. May I resume my duties?"  
  
Washington continued his move forward and slowly wrapped his left hand around Ben's hip, his thumb hovering over the wound without touching it. His palm was hot as an iron.

Time lurched to a standstill.  
  
Their eyes met, and the jolt to Ben's chest was like a hundred cannons being fired at once.  
  
Washington was experiencing a similar reaction.

It was not at all unpleasant. But most definitely inappropriate. And they both knew it.  
  
Washington bent down and kissed his forehead, extremely gently and almost longingly.  
  
Ben wanted more.  
  
His eyes pleaded for more.  
  
Washington saw the red lips silently begging for more. He slowly reached a hand up and gently laid the tip of a finger on Ben’s mouth.  

“May I..?” he asked with a thin smile, eyes as cheerful as they had ever been. 

Ben could only nod due to his sheer inability to speak under these circumstances.

So for a full five seconds, Washington passionately gave those lips what they wanted.  
  
What _he_ wanted, too. Had wanted for months. 

But just this once, and never again.

"You may resume your duties," Washington whispered into his ear, before carefully withdrawing his hand and backing up to a safe distance. Then in a normal voice: "I'm extremely relieved that you're on the mend. I cannot have my head of intelligence cooped up in his tent and useless, even in the winter."  
  
Ben yanked down his shirt and buckled his belt, desperately trying to gather his wits and not even sure what had really just happened. The sound of his own voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else entirely.

"So…you're not angry with me, sir?"

"Of course I am. You acted carelessly with Gamble, and even more so with Mrs. Livingston. Don't let it happen again. You may dismiss, thank you."  
  
Ben smirked for a fraction a second, and then said in a very serious tone, "Please don't take this the wrong way, sir, but...I wouldn't mind getting shot again if _that’s_  going to be the punishment."  
  
He turned and left the tent, leaving Washington grinning like a fool.

 

——————

 


End file.
